I Believe in Santa

Abstract

My parents dropped me off at Baltimore’s Penn Station, and I was now standing alone on the platform waiting for the Amtrak train to New York, where I would change for the “Adirondack” to Montreal. I had my backpack, my Peugeot bicycle, and my large suitcase. My parents were on their way home, and there was no turning back. Like Ramanujan, who ran away to Vizagapatnam after he flunked out of college, I was running away having dropped out of high school. Of course, we had different reasons for running. Ashamed of having lost his scholarship, Ramanujan had simply disappeared. I was fleeing my pressure-cooker of a life, but I had left with my parents’ knowledge and consent.